


I Hope One Day Somebody Loves You So Much That They Do Not Waste Their Time Trying To Fix You

by Iamasortofvillain



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25942219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamasortofvillain/pseuds/Iamasortofvillain
Summary: I’m sorry that I am back and forth, push and pull, instead of effortless simplicityOR: Five times Ellie asks Dina to tell her a story + one time she doesn't
Relationships: Dina & Ellie (The Last of Us), Dina/Ellie (The Last of Us)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	I Hope One Day Somebody Loves You So Much That They Do Not Waste Their Time Trying To Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> "And now that I am older, I don’t give a damn about sin. I will be the first to cast one" - Trista Mateer, The Dogs I Have Kissed

i.

Her eyes burning orange fire and you bite your lip and shake your head.

"This is hardly the time or place." You tell her, happy and contained and warm. Something blooms in your chest (something like love and something like peace and something like home).

"You promised to tell me." She says and you know she's asking for another story, one of the old ones Talia used to tell you, one you learned when you were small and your mom was still alive and the world wasn't so dark and so scary and so damn lonely.

"Now?" you try again and Ellie (infuriating, silly, beautiful Ellie) smiles her big smile and nods.

You look her in the eyes. "Ellie." (You say it pointedly, hoping she will realize just how inappropriate this whole situation is).

(She grins).

"You're a moron".

"I am. Tell me the story".

You suck in air and you can't for the life of you form more than three coherent words. Ellie has a half-smile on her face and the words get trapped in your chest.

She leans down, closer to your face, and grabs your wrists gently and pulls them above your head. (She's wonderful and bright and playful, so young it makes your chest tighten).

"I love you so fucking much." You tell her.

She takes two breaths (you feel the urge pushing at you) and then leans down and kisses you. (You smell flowers and grease and something pleasant that is Ellie. When she pulls away she grins).

"Okay." You say and flip her over. She settles under you, happy and smiling and you push your hand down her pants and watch her eyes grow big, her mouth forms a perfect 'o' and you smile a sweet innocent smile.

"You ready for your story?"

"Dina… what - ?"

You hover over her and you kiss her chapped lips and you think your God has nothing on her. You would rather kiss her painful, kiss her stupid, kiss her blank, than pray to cold air and to history and to promises.

(You don't want to talk).

(You end up telling her the story anyway).

ii.

The marks on the walls of the buildings are red of wet blood, and brown of dried insides, and has horrific handprints and finger marks and crude evidence of people and animals and birds.

It's a safe (dirty dirty) place so you ignore the horrifying marks on the walls and focus on what is coming.

You lay her gently on the couch, the fire still burning and her face is a beautiful game of light and shadow.

She stares at you, silently, with huge eyes, (eyes like pools of mud and ink and something eternal and calm and yours).

You tell her ancient stories about your ancestors land. A land of dreams and magical lakes and overflowing rivers and raging fires. You tell her about heroes with shapeshifting staffs, guiding a scared flock of slaves across the seafloor. You tell her about ginger kings and humble priests and hungry wales and foreign queens. You tell her about devoted husbands and loving fathers and great battles and a long-forgotten present God.

Ellie sleeps and you touch her nose with trembling fingers. It has been so long since you have seen her this peaceful, it breaks your heart.

"Was it the stories?" You ask her the following day when she's rubbing away the sleep from her eyes.

She smiles her tight scared little smile, the unsure one, the one that makes your heart bleed because she has no idea how beautiful how special how important she is to you.

"Maybe".

"I have more." You promise.

"More stories?" her eyes light up and you nod, throat clogged with emotion.

Ellie tiptoes closer to you and kisses you deeply.

iii.

You are crushed into the wall, the idea becoming the thing itself and you try to push, to climb, to get free.

The infected is a huge man and he's strong like a bear. He is so far gone you can barely tell he once was human.

He's hard and dense and powerful like a wall. Like the earth itself, and your breath is coming in gasps. Soon you can fight no longer and you know you cannot stop because if you die, you'll be killing another person and you can't let yourself do that.  


(You cannot leave Ellie).

"Arghhh!" The pressure becomes pain. The infected is pushing you down, making sickening noises in your face. His arms squeeze you so hard that the last ounce of air in your lungs is crushed out of you and

(This cannot be the end).

Your own strength is not enough. Your efforts become weaker and you scream through your teeth, a high pitched scream of anger and frustration and complete terror.

And then Ellie is there and you can breathe again. Deep lungful of cold crunchy air.

Ellie is there and her hands are strong and dangerous. She jabs a knife in the infected, somewhere between the blooming head and the rotten shoulder and you gasp and cry and clutch her with trembling hands.

Ellie struggles and pushes you to your feet. The panic is evident in her huge green eyes.

"We're trapped." She says in a whisper, her words wild and thick and everything small and scared.

You touch her face, push the messy hair away from her eyes. You kiss her lips, just because you can and because if you don't you'll probably combust, and she tastes mud gritty and blood copper and salty.

"No," you say, and then again. "No. No, we're not. Let's get the fuck out of here".

Ellie is whipping the blood and dirt from your face with trembling fingers. You look up at the sky (it's twilight. Long and purple and cold).

"That was fucking scary." She says helpfully and you laugh even though you want to cry.

"It was".

"Got any story to top that?" she speaks lightly but you can hear the complete terror of loss in her voice.

You scan quickly the thining source of stories in your memory. "Well," you say quietly while Ellie looks for a way out. "There is this story about a young king, long before he was coronated, when he was nothing but a young boy – a soft handed musician, away from home, in the big city of Jerusalem".

"Is it the red-haired one?"

You tap her nose. "Yes, the freckled one." You say and she laughs a breathy little laugh.

"What did this freckled king do?"

"He went looking for a huge beast, a giant serving the enemy, for the chance to free the twelve tribes of Israel".

The air is dreadfully cold, but it's a fresh cold and it helps sober you up. You keep talking while you gather your things, shoulder your backpacks, and sprint towards the tall buildings in the distance.

Ellie listens to your story with child-like wonder.

You remind yourself to revisit this story later when you're out of this godforsaken city, home and warm and safe.

iv.

The room is freezing and smells of people who have lived and eaten and dreamed and are gone now.

You check the kitchen and the drawers while Ellie tries her never-ending luck with the thermostat and generators.

"Dude..." she whispers when a wave of warm air strikes her face and you smile a secret smile.

"You're my lucky charm." She tells you, beaming white smile in a dirty dirty face.

"You don't believe in luck." You tell her and she flips you off playfully.

There is a bare mattress in a small bedroom that smells fresh and clean and doesn't have any suspicious marks on it.

"A bad sign." Ellie says and you have to agree because 

(Clean stuff indicates human activity - recent human activity and it's exposed and scary and it can end very badly for you).

"We'll be fine. We'll camp here tonight and tomorrow keep moving".

You take off your shoes and coat and get on the mattress with Ellie, fully dressed. You cuddle close and wonder how long it will take for you to get warm and fall asleep.

The lights are off and there is a silence you don't hate. Something out in the city hum, like a huge monster, but it's not a dangerous sound. Birds and small animals make small noises. Ellie breaths heavy next to you.

In the stillness, you hear something snap like a shot and Ellie stiffens in your arms.

"Shhh," you smooth your palm over her brow. "Shhh. Sleep. It's alright. I've got you".

"Tell me something." She whispers.

"Something exciting or something adventurous?"

"No. Tell me something homey".

You scan quickly through the stories in your mind, jump from one book to the other, trying to find something soothing and nice, (something to calm the nervous girl in your arms) but all your stories seem too epic and too bloody and too heroic for tonight.

"I am black but comely," you sing softly into Ellie's ear and (you make a point of pronouncing every syllable and every sound in a hushed sort of tone). "Oh, daughters of Jerusalem, Like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon..." your fingers travel on Ellie's face, on her nose and between her eyebrows and under her lower lip. "Do not look upon me because I am swarthy, for the sun has gazed upon me…" you kiss the top of her head with burning lips and burning tongue and burning, ancient ancient words. "My own vineyard I did not keep".

Ellie sighs a happy sigh that goes right to the dump place between your legs.

(You squeeze your thighs tight and ignore the jab of pure want in your chest).

(You ignore the pure want that's pooling in your lower stomach).

"Tell me," you whisper intimately in her ear, a steady stream of breathy words. "You whom my soul loves, where do you feed, where do you rest at noon, for why should I be like one who veils herself beside the flocks of your companions?"

"You're not." Ellie answers, half asleep and smiling.

"If you do not know, oh fairest of women, go your way in the footsteps of the flocks… Behold," (you almost choke when she moans quietly and it takes everything in you not to push her away and put your own fingers to work). "You are fair, my beloved – beloved, you are fair and your eyes are doves. Your hair is like a flock of goats that stream down from mount Gilead…"

Her tense body relaxes. Your eyes prick with tears. You tighten your hold on her body and cuddle closer.

She's heavy and hot with sleep. You find comfort in her bony, muscular, hungry frame. She is strong and gentle and you feel safe with her, even when she thrusts and moans and rolls in her restless sleep.

Your breath comes shallowly now, as you slip into a blessed slumber. Ellie is solid and real next to you. Her fingers clutching your sleeve, like a giant baby.

You are no longer cold. You're no longer afraid. You let your mind and body rest.

You lay in the darkness and let your brain no longer think about tomorrow, or about home, or about Talia.

(You try your best not to think about what the hell you are going to do with the innocent new life blooming deep inside of you).

You sleep and somewhere in the distance a hoard of infected scream, their voices carry in the wind.

v.

You watch them move, blind and clicking and hungry. You can't imagine a life in darkness, surrounded by filth, the life of never-ending need and want for something you so rarely get.

They live in a world of dimness, where the sun never rises. Their life is barely worth calling that. All they have is pain and this blindness and their lust for meat or blood or simply violence (you can't tell which one).

They yelp and howl and click and screech. Not understanding human speech any longer (no more than you understand their language).

You almost feel sorry for them. Almost. They do try and eat you (eat Ellie) so you dismiss your sorrow and any tenderness you might be feeling and spend all you have on the freckled sunburned girl at your right.

Ellie is a beacon in a world of cruel darkness. She smiles at you and she smells good and you are scared so scared so goddamn scared. You are wailing in your fear but Ellie's hand is there and she squeezes your fingers and gives you a tight little smile.

"Don't be afraid," she whispers. Her voice is row and low and everything you love. "I've got you, babe".

You give Ellie a meaningful look and she nods.

You see the heads of the creatures who used to be humans (with infinite minds and dreams and beliefs) and they don't have faces (they can't see you) but you have a feeling they are all looking at you.

Ellie leads you away from this place, staying low, her back arched.

That night Ellie is sitting in the space between your legs. She's telling you some silly story about Joel (a funny one, one from before Jackson and one she remembers well) and you imagine the child she must have been and you begin to laugh and laugh and laugh, and she laughs with you in delight and in freedom and in misery.

Then she turns to you, serious but worried.

"What?" you ask softly.

The brief daylight is fading into blessed darkness and Ellie's eyes are dark once more.

"You tired for telling me those stories of yours?"

"No".

"Please." She says and you clear your throat but then change your mind. You tap lightly on her arm and motion for her to get comfortable on your lap.

"Seriously?" she says and you smile a sweet cunning smile.

"Seriously".

Once she puts her head in your lap, your fingers tangle in her messy dirty hair and you start talking.

You tell her about roaring darkness, about burning trees and fallen angels. You tell her about red earth, about talking serpents, about a naked man and a woman, about dream reader, about choices to be made and thunderbirds and vast landscapes. You tell her about brave scavengers, about black-haired men and high cheeked women. You tell her about the first people, about the last prophets, about angry, jealous, vengeful almighty God.

You tell her bloody stories, and frightening stories, and stories about wars and killers and angry big brothers and Ellie watches you with big proud eyes before she falls asleep.  


When she does, she sleeps like a baby.

+i.

Ellie figures you should go into the city center so you walk across a bridge and across a small dried out river that looks and smell more like an open drain, and you try to remember the geography of the city, for future reference.

The temperature drops and you wonder how cold it is. Not cold enough to freeze, that's for sure, and not as cold as you experienced before, but cold nonetheless.

You breathe in the air and cough a dry sort of cough. (It's probably a couple of degrees above zero and you both are dressed warm so you don't suffer too much).

Ellie turns her head, concerned, and you wave her off.

You thurst your hands in your pockets, clenching fingers and trying to find some warmth. The city is big and cold and unnerving. You can hear the soldiers and the infected in the distance, their voices carry in the cold air.

You walk through Seattle, you walk step after step after step and you are tired and cold and hurting. Your face is numb, your toes are numb, your fingers are cold and aching and numb.

You let another dry, painful cough and you hope you didn't catch something.

The wind blows hard and steady and continuous, over the buildings, and through you.

Ellie catches your hand. "Everything is going to be okay." She tells you.

You nod.

"I love you." She says, quiet and kind of scared.

"I love you, too." You tell her.

"Everything is going to be okay." She says again, voice stronger, more sure this time.

"Okay." You say and you believe her.

//

You hold Ellie's hand and she laughs freely at a stupid joke you told. She laughs and you watch the sun set over the city, glimmering in the distance and nothing can ruin your perfect moment.

"Baby," you say, smoothing her hair. She is still laughing, curled into your chest. You run your hands over her body like you're making sure she's real. For the moment, no bones are broken and there is no blood. Not even scrapes on her hands and face.

Her skin is two or three shades lighter than yours, tinged with pink instead of brown and you love every inch and every curve and every sharp corner of her.

"You know…" you say, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear and she cuts you off with a cheeky kiss.

"Okay".

Ellie laughs a little more (young and free and forgetful) and takes her hands off your shoulders to rest them on your hips.

"You're like a horny teenager." You tell her.

"I am a horny teenager." She points out. "And you're no better than me. I see you, looking at my ass".

"I actually worry about your steps." You huff and hope she doesn't notice the lie.

"Yeah yeah." She says and you can't fool her (you won't fool her) and she laces your fingers together and squeezes your hands hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to bruise.

(You squeeze back and she laughs).

You roll your eyes and she is smiling, (her smile is spring and summer and exactly what you need right now).

You squeeze her sides and she parts her lips and kisses you ungracefully.

Soon enough she's biting back moans and you rub your hands against her back, tender but firm. Her muscular frame shudders above you. Your heart drops somewhere near your stomach when she opens her eyes and her pupils are blown.

"Ellie…"

"You can't ask me to stop." She's almost pleading and you had nothing of that sort in your mind so you keep quiet and say nothing at all.

Her hands make quick work of your clothes and you love that Ellie forgets (or chooses not to remember) just where you both are and why you both are there and what mortal danger this whole journey is.

You don't fuck tonight. Instead, Ellie makes love to you with power and gentleness that bring tears to your eyes and when she holds you (after both of you come, hard and slow and powerful) legs tangled and breath hot, you hope she will understand why you kept some parts of you a secret.

Ellie is tired and limp in your arms. It's apparent from the way she hugs you and puts her head on your shoulder. She is softened with sleep, her hair a wispy curtains and you close your eyes and hug her tight.

She is scarred and soft and muscled. She is small and gentle and secure. You wrap your arms around her waist and she makes a small noise of tired happiness.

"Sleep." You tell her.

And she does.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  
> Let me know what you think (if you feel like it) and come visit me @ love-jesus-but-i-drink-a-little.tumblr.com


End file.
